I hate this day. Not because of the food or the noise. But because of the costumes, the fancy dress. I lie on my belly, my back aches. Old scars pull. Premature grey hairs fall where they should not, onto the bed of a 17 year old. My tired head is in my hands, I can hear the noise from the hall, the booming laughter and music. Down there they sing and dance, they pretend to be monsters and demons and ghouls. Everywhere I look I will be able to see reminders of what I am – a monster, a werewolf.
Written for the 100 word drabble challenge of 'fancy dress'